


Charity

by Harker13, Masamune7



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-04 04:04:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16339460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harker13/pseuds/Harker13, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masamune7/pseuds/Masamune7
Summary: Baker St. Boys? Charity? Yes!





	Charity

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober 15 - Uniforms
> 
> This one is a softie. Thanks for reading.

“Boys! Don’t forget to bring me your things for charity!”

Mrs. Hudson always had a wonderful habit of helping those in need at Christmas; even her two bitter tenants who, without knowing it, was about to help them take a new step in their relationship; or maybe she did know it.

“And this time please put clothes in there; nobody needs old test tubes, Sherlock!”

“I’ll make sure he puts something nice in there, don’t worry.” – John assured the worried lady.

“Thank you, dear! THEY CAN’T GET WARM WITH YOUR SCIENCE TUBES!” –kept yelling as she returned to her apartment; they could still hear the echo of her voice a few minutes later.

____

“Sherlock, please tell me you picked something nice for her… please, you have tons of coats; give her one of the good ones for the charity” – said Watson annoyed, he already knew the answer that was coming.

“Of course, I gathered six boxes of books” – said while proudly showing his boxes.

“No, Sherlock! Clothes! The orphans and the bums need clothes!” – Deep down, John believed that as years passed, eventually Sherlock would make it at the first attempt. He was completely wrong.

“I think you forget I pretty much sustain every homeless person in town” – Sherlock had a point.

“Yes, but Mrs. Hudson doesn’t know that! Now please, less books, more clothes!

“Fine!”

“You know what, I’ll make all these less traumatic for you, how about I clean your wardrobe and you clean mine? That way you can finally get rid of my hideous jumpers, deal?”

“That …. sounds like a better plan” - agreeing with Watson was already a traumatizing action – “But don’t touch my dark gray coat”

“ALL YOUR COATS ARE DARK GRAY!”

“THAT’S EXACTLY MY POINT!” – and ran away to hide in John’s room.

Sherlock started sniffing among his things; even though they were roommates, he wasn’t very fond of visiting Watson’s room. A pile of boxes was pushed against the wall. He opened one revealing a perfectly neat and arranged set of notebooks, each one labeled precisely as: poems, essays, thoughts, random notes and drawings. Sherlock started flipping throw the pages from all of them, one by one.

“What are you doing? those are garbage, not for charity” – John didn’t feel the need to knock on his own room.

“Nothing; just … cleaning and making sure you don’t get rid of something … very valuable, like these” – said Sherlock lifting one of the notebooks.

“Those are not valuable, when I came back from Afghanistan and started therapy, the doctor suggested me to keep journals, supposedly, to be able to heal myself since she was not making a progress. I think she was worried I would get cancer from all the resentment and anger. It all started with napkins during tea time and escalated to … this.”

As it tended to happen during emotional times, Sherlock was speechless.

“But I think I’ve managed all very well since I started living here; you’ve been a great distraction from my inner struggle to function normally; I’ve learned from you that being a little wacky is kindda useful … you keep my mind busy” - John smiled inadvertently while talking

“Well… that’s not something I could read from the fluffs on your clothes or your fingerprints; what else are you giving away?”

“Hmmm … everything? I been considering redecorating”

“Your uniforms too? Wasn’t it a soldier’s most precious possession?” – Sherlock seemed a bit confused.

“It’s not like I’ll use it again soon”

“I’m keeping it, in case you change your mind”

“No, you already are a hoarder; actually, you should go and clean every biological sample in the fridge if you do me the favor!”

“John, do you need a hug right now?”

“What?! No, I’m O.K.! … look, Sherlock… seriously I” – John was interrupted by Sherlock’s silhouette approaching slowly like ghost, still holding the uniform.

He placed a small kiss on John’s forehead and left the room.

_____________

“Mrs. Hudson; it’s not going to make any difference if we take the boxes tomorrow, yes! We’re on it … turns out he has more coats than I expected! … yes, tomorrow morning, yes 8:00 a.m.; I’ll bring you biscuits!”

John's negotiation was heard all along the corridor. As soon as he returned to the apartment and closed the door, he prepared to take a nap before returning to the difficult task that was leading with the conviction towards Sherlock.

For his good (or bad) luck; the detective was already waiting for him in the room. He had been organizing John’s military paraphernalia as it was a beautiful museum collection.

“Bums don’t need uniforms, and surely neither the orphans or the garbage truck”

“You actually made something nice for me … I can’t wait to see how all this turns against me”

“Neither will I, I'll certainly be waiting to mention it at the right time” – Sherlock smiled – “Good night, John” – and headed to the living room.

John was pleasantly surprised by the gesture.

Knock, knock

“Would you mind … if I spend the night here?” - Sherlock poked his head shyly around the doorframe.

“That would be lovely” – was this really happening?

After talking for a long time about John's war anecdotes, he leaned back followed by Sherlock who did not hid his desire to spoon him. There was something incredibly sensual about the idea of John being on a battlefield, saving lives, putting his own at risk.

There is a moment in the life of every man in which he must suppress an erection for two hours (or more) to not distract the attention from what is really important. That night, Sherlock was that person. He was dying to tear off Watson's clothes every time he mentioned how they had spent seventy-two hours without sleeping, taking care of the wounded ones, pulling out bullets with his own hands and fighting not to pass out due to fatigue.

Two or more hours holding that pumping erection; biting his tongue, sweating cold at the idea of being with a hero.

He held John closer.

“I would love to make all the work for you; make you realize how wonderful you are, all the bravery living within you; but I can’t … first because I don’t know how, and second because it won’t work unless you cross that tunnel … so, we’re going to cross that tunnel, John; together”

“Thank you …” – and smiled.

“John don’t resist it … I’m going to hug you until all your broken parts stick back together. You will never feel alone again as long as I’m here.”

“Sherlock… wh…?” – Watson laughed.

“Is it working?”

“Yes, love … it’s working.” – and closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't even think we are mirroring our needs.  
> Nope. Never.


End file.
